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Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
On Greenland's rocks, o'er rude Kamschatka's plains, In pale Siberia's desolate domains;
Where the wild hunter takes his lonely way,
Than all the flowery vales beneath the sky;
Round Andes' heights, where winter, from his throne,
By the gay borders of Bermuda's isles,
His home the spot of earth supremely blest,
RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICAN CITIZENS.
[The following extract is taken from an Oration delivered by Judge Story Sept. 18, 1828, on the occasion of the commemoration of the first settlement of Salem, Massachusetts.]
WE stand the latest, and, if we fail, probable the last, experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the old world. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning-simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government and self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe.
Within our territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary, than for the people to preserve what they themselves have created?
Can it be that America, under such circumstances can betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics the inscription upon whose ruins is, "They were, but they are not?" Forbid it, my countrymen! forbid it, Heaven!
I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors,
RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 111
by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are and all you hope to be,-resist every project of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties, resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction.
I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman-the love of your offspring; teach them, as they climb your knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her.
I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are, whose inheritance you possess. Lífe can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defence of the liberties of your country.
I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave with the recollection that you have lived in vain! May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves!
The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs! May he who, at the distance of another century, shall stand here to celebrate this day, still look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous people! May he have reason to exult as we do! May he, with all the enthusiasm of truth, as well as of poetry, exclaim that here is still his country.
"Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.
W. P. PALMER.
A DISTRICT School, not far away
Let off in one tremendous kiss!
A great, green, bashful simpleton,
That you, my biggest pupil, should
Before the whole set school to boot-
LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
And dassn't kiss a baby's doll,
LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
SARAH T. BOLTON.
WHAT, was it a dream? am I all alone
In the dreary night and the drizzling rain? Hist!-ah, it was only the river's moan;
They have left me behind, with the mangled slain.
Yes, now I remember it all too well!
We met, from the battling ranks apart; Together our weapons flashed and fell,
And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart.
In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done,
He spoke but once, and I could not hear
The words he said, for the cannon's roar; But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear,— O God! I had heard that voice before!
Had heard it before at our mother's knee,
When we lisped the words of our evening prayer! My brother! would I had died for thee,
This burden is more than my soul can bear!
I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek,
And begged him to show me, by word or sign, That he knew and forgave me : he could not speak, But he nestled his poor cold face to mine.